Bad Education by Enzo Faenza

That day came in three. The secretary of a vest and blue striped shirt, almost elegant, and the two janitors, one in blue scrubs along to the foot, from the primary hospital, the other with pants that reached almost to the throat, held up by a belt probably crumpled inherited from his paternal grandfather."What cazz 'Vonn' chist 'ogg'?" Fonzo immediately swore very, very upsetby the sudden appearance of the three. He, Fonzo, was my classmate:the last one in the bottom of one of the many, large classrooms of elementary school"Edmondo De Amicis." That hidden place, a few miles from the chair, was historically reserved for "dummies", the "repeating" the "malamenti" I was a special guest for my particular height. It was the place, that, together with the destruction and formation. As the teacher explained, there is traded in or bartered Panini stickers pens, pencils, pencil sharpeners, notebooks and tires were stolen from the front rows of nerds. Once ricettata and was sold a copy of the catechism. He learned well, actually, the first elements of economy and trade. Every now and then, early and ill-controlled hormonal flows forced the greatest to hold the first, even practices, sex education classes. It was a place, that, so to speak, very visceral, a lot of material. How absolutely materials were the reasons why, Fonzo, I was very fond. In the morning, just arrived, always late, I immediately wondered how my sandwich was stuffed. The first rap of the day was traditionally his. On time, every day, was caught by the teacher, with puffy cheeks, and gulped half of my "breakfast". "Fonzo, how many times must I repeat that you have to wait to eat the recreation hour!?" And what is was "recreation"? An appointment mystic, a religious event, a second creation of God? Boh! In those years our mother tongue was a dialect and '"Italian" was a language often, very often foreign. And then Fonzo certainly could not wait a second creation of God: he makes-me! He belonged to a poor family and had told me that my mother every morning, so preparing some "breakfast", but they were too many, just too many of those who got up before it usufruiva, others were in hand. Fonzo liked me because I had given him the only "Bic" of his new life, with the cap intact, not chewed. Fonzo liked me because, occasionally, I passed, "under the table", a 'sticky toffee that filled temporarily and hypoglycemic phases ipoaffettive.That day "came in three," the secretary pulled out a sheet and began to recite the names. One by one, some of our companions reached tame the chair. Someone whispered that they would go to anotherclassroom: they were too bright and disturbing the "peace", the good performance of aclass model (perhaps a school class?). That day was the year 1866, sorry 1966, a hundred years before the publication of the mythical, deamicisiano "Heart" ... and yet they came and were in three.           At some point, in the classroom, but quite suddenly expected, echoing the name of Fonzo Fonzo ... but did not moveThe name was repeated, this time with more emphasis Fonzo ... but did not move. He looked into my eyes and reassured me: "I nun 'I vac' I rest 'cu' tte!" The two caretakers, then, to a final nod from the Secretary, hale advanced towards him.Fonzo suddenly attached itself to the bench and hugged him like a cobra, he began to shout like a madman. "Iatevenn ', ricchiun', iatevenn '!" exclaimed a 'last time ... Fonzo did not move, was taken away.I remained alone in that old bench block, but only physically:with the imagination of a child that day, and for some time, followed Fonzo ... In reality, however, I saw him, only a few more times, in the great hall of the school, I saw him again, then, a few years later, with a physique Sylvester Stallone, grumbling while unloading a truck. Then, I saw him pił.Un day, a newspaper, I read that he was arrested not remember where or why. Remember, however, very well, in that the police catch him, pardon the police, had cursed his name ... but Fonzo had not moved, had been taken away! Who is moving or is moving too much in life, is a loser ... word of sloth!Oh I forgot! Any reference to persons, places or events is entirely coincidental: there never was a primary school "De Amicis", I Fonzo and some we've never visited, he has never been "deported" or stopped, and even now , in 2007, in the spirit of our advanced democracy in schools, of every grade, classes are composed